


Daisy Chains

by twilightshadow



Series: Writing Prompts and Other Shenanigans [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Non-Graphic Sex, Prompt Fill, grantaire is a secret romantic, kinda depends how you read it, matching tattoos, maybe a bit angsty, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 10:01:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightshadow/pseuds/twilightshadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for nowintothetardis on tumblr, who asked for this:</p><p>"Can you do a fic where this headcanon is used? :D Whenever Grantaire and Jehan are heartbroken about Courf and Enjolras, they hook up in order to feel better. Their sex is great, they have great chemistry; but only because they’re both such romantics. And normally they’re pretty drunk. But they get tattoos afterwards, like yellow daisies or the deathly hallow sign because they don’t ever want to forget the comfort that the other has brought to them."</p><p>Therefore, have some Les Amis friends-with-benefits fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daisy Chains

It started exactly eighteen months after Grantaire had been dragged to a meeting of Les Amis de L’ABC. Eighteen months since he first laid eyes on the beautiful blonde student who ran the group, who spoke passionately about the people and their plight. Eighteen months since Grantaire fell in love with Enjolras, and Enjolras failed to fall in love with him in return.

(Eighteen months, two weeks and three days. He counted.)

Jehan, on the other hand, had already been in love for three years. At first, Grantaire had looked bemused, because Jehan was always in love with something, or someone. But Courfeyrac… “Courfeyrac is different,” he’d confessed.

“Aren’t they always?” Grantaire had asked.

Because Courfeyrac was – is – a flirt who thinks he is God’s gift to men, women and everything inbetween alike, and Jehan knows that he could never be anything different to him. But to Jehan the man is beautiful, in every way. He feels like Courfeyrac completes him, the perfect complement to his nature.

Of course the other man is oblivious.  (“The perfect ones always are,” says Grantaire. He gazes at Enjolras with barely masked longing.)

The idea was hatched while drowning their collective sorrows over romcoms, ice cream and popcorn. One second the heroine is tearfully making her passionate confession to the hero (and Grantaire may or may not have sighed ‘Enjolras’ under his breath, because some of the fury in her eyes in so similar to his blonde god), the next second Jehan’s mouth is covering his own and clothing is being shed and, and, and…

Jehan cried afterwards. “I’m sorry, R…”

“Don’t be.” Because it felt good, and continues to feel good over a year down the line.

For a few hours, every few weeks (or days during particularly bad times), they can forget about their unrequited loves and give some comfort to each other. After a particularly nasty blow-up between Grantaire and Enjolras at the Musian, or when Jehan sees Courfeyrac flirting at the bar or making out with somebody at a club, or sometimes when life gets to be too much for a pair of romantic souls, one will text the other to meet at Grantaire’s apartment. They are always there by seven in the evening on the dot. They share a bottle of wine or two and then go to bed. The routine is a comfort, a structure, something they sorely lack in their heads. 

Even semi drunk they are compatible, _sacré bleu_ are they compatible. They can read each other. Grantaire knows by instinct if Jehan requires a tender touch or a no-holds-barred fuck into the mattress. When he takes his time he knows exactly how to run his hands gently down the poet’s sides, and how to use his tongue on Jehan’s cock to drive the youth mad. Jehan knows the angle that will make him writhe and moan and cry out when he opens him up with his fingers.

When they’re fast Grantaire knows the exact pressure of teeth against Jehan’s neck will make him gasp and beg for more. More often than not Jehan will take charge and pin his wrists to the sheets, whisper filthy things into Grantaire’s ears as he drapes himself across his back, sliding his cock in and out of his arse at a pace he knows drives the artist insane.

Jehan always stays the night.

They don’t call it ‘making love.’ It’s more than that, and also less.

Their friends have no idea. Grantaire tells them the hickeys are from a one-night stand. Jehan passes off tiredness as late night inspiration. Joly lectures them, Bossuet and Bahorel both laugh, Eponine raises an eyebrow and Musichetta (to the horror of her boys) offers them tips.

The real beauty of it is they are still friends. Jehan writes poetry for Grantaire while he sketches something for his latest assignment. They go to the cinema with their friends, joke around at meetings. Jehan is still the same wild-haired boy he knew from primary school who used to show up with ink all over his fingers and speak in rhyme as a joke and attack bullies on his behalf. Life continues as normal.

Grantaire knows it is good, and as with all things in his life, he knows it is too good to last.

 ***

When it ends they’re sharing a bottle of wine on Grantaire’s paint-stained sofa. He senses something’s different. Grantaire has seen every one of Jehan’s facial expressions, but not this one. Biting back a laugh and at the same time looking desperately sad.

“Out with it, Prouvaire,” he says. “What’s on your mind?”

Jehan bites his lip, takes a swig straight from his bottle.

“Courfeyrac wanted to know if I was free next weekend. There’s a play he thinks I might like and…he wants to take me to dinner afterwards.”

R sits up a little straighter. “You mean the bastard asked you out?!”

Jehan blushes. “I’m sorry, R, I just…I don’t want to get my hopes up or anything, but Courf doesn’t date, he hooks up…”

“Crikey, Jehan, don’t apologise. Just warn him that if he hurts you I will hurt him. A lot. And also give him a buzz-cut in the middle of one night.”

Jehan laughs. Courfeyrac is even vainer about his hair than Cosette.

“But, seriously, R…I’m sorry.”

“What the hell for?”

“Because until I know what Courfeyrac’s intentions are I’d…well, I’d prefer it if we didn’t hook up. I don’t intend to tell him, or anything, I don’t want to wreck this before it’s had a chance but…”

“Hey, hey, it’s fine.” Grantaire plucks to bottle from his fingers and puts it down on the coffee table. He replaces the bottle with his fingers. “It’s not like you’re my boyfriend, we’re not exclusive. You have the right to date whoever you like. Don’t worry about me.”

(Even if he feels a hot, tight, dark coil deep in his gut that he doesn’t want to consider thinking about.)

“Just be careful,” he says instead.

“Where Courfeyrac’s involved I don’t intend to be anything else,” Jehan remarks.

They giggle and rest their foreheads together.

“Love you, Jehan.”

“Love you too R. And I’m holding out for happiness for you as well.”

Grantaire knows this is unlikely. Even if, by some miracle he did find someone else, even if that other person did want to take him on…they will not be Enjolras, the one true love of his life (and he knows with the same certainty he knows that La Tour Eifel is a ten minute walk away that he can never truly love another).

***

And once again life returns to normal. Over the next month or two, Grantaire watches Courfeyrac trip over his own tongue and Jehan gaze adoringly at him nonetheless. He watches flowers appear in Courfeyrac’s curls and verses up his arms. He notices their hands clasped under the table.

He misses Jehan. He misses his comfort, he misses the sweet kisses that made him forget hot arguments and cold glances for a short time.

When Jehan drops unexpectedly into the seat next to his one fine morning in February, Grantaire jumps. “What’s up, Prouvaire?”

“So, I had an idea…everything seems to be working out, but rather than callously leave you like a used mistress, I had a thought.” He pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket

And that’s how, two days later, Grantaire finds himself in a tattoo parlour that Jehan knows, having a daisy chain inked around his wrist, while Jehan gets a matching one in the other chair.

“Why daisies?” Grantaire asks.

“Because it was pure, simple, and perfect, and we shall be forever bound because of it.”

“I don’t think some of the things you said at the time were particularly pure.”

Jehan shoots him his best ‘fuck you’ face. Grantaire flashes him a grin. Both know the other is joking.

It’s not the first tattoo Grantaire’s ever had, but it’s the most obvious (and most painful) so far. The bandage around his wrist is still there in the meeting the next day. He keeps fiddling with it self-consciously (though he knows he shouldn’t) while half listening to the conversations happening around him.

He gets his second shock of the week when Enjolras sits down opposite to him. “What’s with the bandage?” he asks. “Jehan has one as well.”

“How observant of you, Apollo,” Grantaire remarks, trying to stop his heart jumping out of his chest (they’ve hit a rough patch recently and lack of Jehan has made him snarkier than usual). “They’re tattoos.” He peels back the tape and lifts the bandage to reveal the delicate daisy chain that snakes around his left wrist.

“I take it Jehan’s matches?” Grantaire nods. “Why?”

Grantaire sucks in a deep breath. “It’s a long story.”

“Go on.”

“Why do you care?” He replaces the bandage and tape carefully. “You do realise this is the first civil conversation we’ve ever had.”

Enjolras blinks. “Really?”

R sighs. “Yes, really.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. I didn’t realise I was that argumentative. Or that you were that antagonistic.”

“Oh, antagonistic I certainly am.”

Then Enjolras does something wonderful. He smiles. “That you are.”

Grantaire smiles back. He sees Jehan giving him the thumbs up over Enjolras’ shoulder.

Enjolras taps the bandage lightly. “Tell me the long story someday. I’d like to hear it.” He lets his fingers linger on Grantaire’s wrist for a second before moving back towards Combeferre and Joly.

Grantaire smiles a private smile at the table top. It’s a start. 

**Author's Note:**

> Grantaire and Jehan will forever be bros in my head...but you have no idea how hard I ship Couf/Jehan. And Enjoltaire. Obviously. Despite this, hope you enjoyed it =D
> 
> Come find me on tumblr, where I am twilightshadow again, and check out nowintothetardis bc she is a wonderful human being. 
> 
> See you next time =D


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